


Undignified

by FuryFragment (RosaGoodlorde)



Category: Final Fantasy VIII
Genre: Antagonism, F/M, Guardian Forces | GFs (Final Fantasy VIII), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Canon, Reunions, Rivalry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:15:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24421882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosaGoodlorde/pseuds/FuryFragment
Summary: “You cannot watch him rottin’ away, doing nothin’, Leonhart!” Raijin had exclaimed during his little speech, enraged. Squall had continued to stare at him mutely.“You cannot be this uncaring, can you?” It had been one of the sentences Rinoa had also rushed at him, as they had been discussing the news of Seifer’s capture earlier.“DEATH,” Fujin had finally said, looking him in the eye, as Raijin had already fallen silent. Seifer’s death would be the result, the final outcome, if Squall did refuse to aid.“… okay, I’ll do it,” Squall had eventually declared into their awaiting faces, breaking the tension. Because he had been sure, this was the last thing Seifer wanted, hating the hope, which immediately had spread on their features.
Relationships: Rinoa Heartilly/Squall Leonhart, Seifer Almasy/Squall Leonhart
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	1. Prologue

// _Squall_

The massive gull-wing doors fell shut behind him with a strange finality, blocking the sounds of the courtroom. He was no righteous person, other than most people thought. Squall had lied. Gaining this opportunity for selling an outright lie for a truth had been the main reason he had offered to testify in public, though not the only one. He walked back through the quiet corridor, in the dim afternoon light of large windows and the long shadows in between them, cutting the tiles on the floor that echoed with his every step. The stationed guards stood as unflinching as the stone gargoyles on the columns, their bizarre grimaces frozen in time, lifeless and hostile as was this whole administrative building. Had the courtroom been aggravatingly and fervidly crammed, the solitude of the long hallway felt soothing and cold. The trial still went on, but Squall did not care for witnessing the outcome. He had finished for what he had come for. Had had his share of inner discomposure and unease in the course. Now he finally should be rid of all their expectations, rid of his inner struggle at last. Or so he wished.

Two hours ago he had seen the guards leading in the tall man awaiting his trial. The greater part of the small crowd present was obviously thirsting for a culprit to be punished and sentenced to death, while others were glorifying and defending his persona in their desire for upheaval. As if punishing one scapegoat would help Galbadia from drifting further apart, as if the numerous factions battling for its leadership and power would still this instant one man was made an example of. Right now there was an interim government in place, installed and lead by high military officials, and though the demand for democratic elections was immense, there was no foreseeing when and under which conditions they would be held.

About half an hour into the trial Squall had been called by the judges. Calmly he had stepped by the witness stand, ignoring the intense urge to catch a direct glimpse of the accused, who had deliberately chosen to refuse giving any testimony in defense of himself. Squall had held an aloof air, he was all SEED, their publicly known representative, a publicly declared hero of the now so called ‘second sorceress war’. Because of his sworn allegiance to Garden he was considered neutral. By now he wore this impersonal guise without a glitch, no hint of his unwilling self surfacing. He had spoken in a smooth and carrying tone and in a collected manner, the audience and judges listening intently. As he had recapitulated some of his actions during the last months relevant for the verdict, while omitting most, his gaze had slowly but steadily wandered to the man in the dock. And as he had told his most outright lies, their eyes had locked. The man’s intense green gaze had been unreadable. His blonde hair had been damp, his clothes neutral, a simple prisoner’s outfit. He had looked worn, his expressive eyes gradually turning into a disapproving glare the more Squall had elaborated on his forgery, sure of the weight it held for his opponent’s fate. And as Squall had stepped down and made his way back, he had not only heard the hushed and calculating whispers of the audience but felt those eyes trailing him. The strange mix of gratification and guilt which had caught on to him while seeing his once rival, defeated and broken, took a long time to fade. It had been worth the commotion. It had eased the hold the other still sometimes so firmly had on his feelings, memories and mind. Still, it did not completely suffice to finally end their mutual history. And Squall knew, he would end up pondering about him again.

As he left the court building through a side entrance and stepped onto the pavement, Squall saw an unobtrusive but familiar figure waiting a few meters ahead in the rain. She stepped in his direction, one eye fairly visible, the other merged with the blackness under the hood she was wearing.

“GRATITUDE.” The decisive but quiet word was emphasized by a choppy gesture of her arm. She had not dared to bring her usual giant companion, Squall noted – too many eyes, since soldiers kept patrolling the streets of the Galbadian capitol.

Squall slowed his pace and gave a slight nod, then continued down the road past her. He had always had a strange liking for Fujin, appreciating her genuine nonchalance and unbridled loyalty. Furthermore, she was as tight-lipped as himself, and had never pestered him with small-talk. They didn’t need to stick around, pretending there would have been any reason for chitchatting now that he had fulfilled her request.

A few days ago, while taking a solitary walk out of Garden close to Balamb in the evening hours, he had been approached by her and Raijin, who tagged along reluctantly, obviously fuming. She had stepped in Squall’s way bossily, arms crossed, her features demanding. Since obviously the two of them weren’t eager for a fight, Squall had simply cast them a questioning look.

They were not allowed to enter his trial and even forbidden to enter the governmental district in Deling, he was told by an outraged and wildly gesticulating Raijin. In the confusion and aftermath of the war, Fujin and Raijin had readily been left aside – other than Seifer, who hadn’t been this lucky. The former sorceress’ knight had been arrested by Galbadian Special Forces out of the blue, accused of kidnapping and assassinating the former president, Vincent Deling. His trial was a political one: Though no Galbadian faction was openly debating their own dubious role during the war – since none of them effectively had withstood or questioned the aggressive imperial politics and territorial gain during Ultimecia’s short reign – the larger part of the high ranked military officials and politicians was all too eager in tying in with the status quo ante, quarreling over who may succeed the former autocrat rather than changing anything in the political system for the better. In effectively punishing the high treason of openly threatening and disposing of their leader by public execution, the former order most certainly would be reinstated.

It had been Fujin’s idea, her last resort, to turn to the new leader of SEED to prevent this outcome of the stubborn blonde’s trial, using Squall’s newly gained fame and popularity. The urge to decline had nearly been all compelling. Squall had really wanted to turn down his former classmates, could easily have lived with them detesting him, if the two of them hadn’t let slip that Seifer did not intend to defend himself. That Seifer had not resisted his imprisonment. It had peaked Squall’s interest, though he had tried to conceal the fact, that he was not entirely indifferent towards his once opponent’s decisions. “You cannot watch him rottin’ away, doing nothin’, Leonhart!” Raijin had exclaimed during his little speech, enraged. Squall had continued to stare at him mutely.

“You cannot be this uncaring, can you?” It had been one of the sentences Rinoa had also rushed at him, as they had been discussing the news of Seifer’s capture earlier. Rinoa, who could not have attended the trial, even if she had wanted, since she by any means should avoid any public appearances, until they would finally decide on how to treat her sorceress’ powers in public. In the Galbadian tale, officially those powers had died along and vanished with Ultimecia’s castle. But in Esthar some people knew about her inheriting them, of her posing a potential thread. Now Squall and the others never quite could be sure, when or if she would be publicly exposed and turmoil would brake loose, when people would become aware of having a sorceress amidst them.

Still, in her case for Seifer, Rinoa had been adamant, fervent even.“Squall, I know, he did the worst as a knight. He did unforgivable things, but still: You cannot simply let him die now, can you?” Couldn’t he? He was not so sure.

“All of you, Quistis, Selphie, Irvine, Zell and you yourself, told me, you grew up together. And you have known him for nearly all of your life, having even been sent to Garden together as children. You two … must have been close.” Squall had not let that count. Until recently he had not been able to even remember any events from their shared youth. Though he knew the others, foremost Quistis and Selphie, would have agreed with Rinoa, he could not see any solace or relevance in that.

Rinoa had continued cautiously, playing with her necklace.“Seifer … was out of his mind, but this war is finally over. At least he does deserve another chance. I do not ask you to become friends, after anything that has happened. But he is no evil person.” Seeking for approval in his features, but finding none, she had stepped away from him, hugging herself and looking out of the window of his sparse room. Only a slight tremble of her lips had been revealing how upset she truly was. In a helpless manner Squall had stepped behind her, encircling her with his arms. Wordlessly she had leaned back against his chest into the touch and they had stared into the dark evening sky, sharing warmth. They had neither discussed Seifer’s fate nor Squall’s role in it after that.

Squall had not really been able to comprehend, what exactly it had been in that moment that bothered him. He had felt torn, not knowing, why he himself was this obstinate and cold towards her, himself, them. He hat not been able to figure out himself, if he still felt betrayed, not being able to bear the intensity and weight of dealing with any supposed obligations towards Seifer. It was way too early.

And he had not really thought about it prior, but Rinoa and Seifer had been romantically involved at one point, had shared their dreams, had surely held vibrant political discussions, had shortly worked towards the same goal of independence and liberation. In these regards, as well as their expressive vivacity, selfishness and reckless daring, they had more in common with each other than one of them would ever have with him. Squall had caught himself wondering, why it was their paths had separated. And though he had known, this was a treacherous and superfluous thought, considering how life had worked out for the three of them, still lately he had not been able to suppress his envy of their shared past. More of all, at that moment in his room, he had envied Rinoa for her lightheartedness. Had hated that she was bringing up, voicing out loud, what he could not. That she could be forgiving, caring, towards a man, who had chosen to betray her. Going down this road with Seifer was impossible for himself.

Squall knew Seifer. Maybe the bastard had been out of his mind. But willingly so. Squall had searched Rinoa’s hazel eyes for a trace that she was aware of this. Needless to say, she wouldn’t be alive now, if Seifer had had his way. But after all that they had been through, she was either still too trusting or good-hearted. Seifer had literally been pulled into this in the beginning because of his acquaintance with her and the Forest Owls. Maybe because of this, she was feeling responsible for his fate. Squall on the other hand did not. Seifer had always stood true to his own decisions and actions, regardless of how mindless and hot-headed he had plunged into them. Another reason, Squall wouldn’t want to interfere now, none of them understood. Even Rinoa had not really gotten to know his once rival, if she wasn’t able to clearly see that. Seifer’s actions screamed into his face that he did not want to be helped. The others just would not listen.

“DEATH,” Fujin had finally said, looking him in the eye, as Raijin had already fallen silent. Seifer’s death would be the result, the final outcome, if Squall did refuse to aid.

“… okay, I’ll do it,” Squall had eventually declared into their awaiting faces, breaking the tension. Because he had been sure, this was the last thing Seifer wanted, hating the hope, which immediately had spread on their features.

Glancing back at the court building and Fujin’s hooded figure only once, Squall continued towards the Deling train station, assuring himself that no, he truly did not care about the outcome.


	2. Chapter 2

_six weeks later_

_//Seifer_

The automatic doors on the third floor slid shut behind him without a sound. Finally not so sure anymore, it would be a wise idea to deliberately seek out his nemesis, Seifer faltered. But as he considered turning around again, Squall suddenly raised his head, looking up from the pile of papers he was reading into his eyes directly. If he was surprised by this visit, it did not show on his face.

“Seifer.” His bland voice cut through the unpleasant quiet like a blade, though there was no tangible hostility in it. Anyways, it was the closest to a greeting Seifer would expect.

“Squall.” He likewise acknowledged casually, albeit a little too loud. He felt a little nauseous, but on the outside wore an expression as calm and blank as the other’s. It was the first time they were this close to one another after the intermezzo in the courtroom six weeks ago, which really didn’t count. Seifer had always known that their paths were inevitably bound to cross again. A small part of him would have liked to evade this encounter for as long as possible, while another craved his adversary’s attention. The last months had left him in a mess and with several unfinished threads in regards to Squall Leonhart, internally throbbing like open wounds to be mended. And so, in another daring attempt to outwit fate, Seifer had decided it would be wise to confront Squall without his usual entourage, at least setting the time, if not really the rules – to whatever end. He truly never learned.

As none of them continued the conversation and Squall showed no sign of ever going to offer him a seat, Seifer stepped into the room further regardless. Briefly he eyed his surroundings. The office, in which he had only been a couple of times, mostly for getting reprimanded for his provocative and loud behavior, had formerly been Cid’s and still wore that dusty, bygone air, a wooden desk at its center. Cid had used to work here, while the other grand room on the third floor, now containing the lift to the bridge, had rather been used for representative occasions. The only thing unfitting this scholarly environment was the young, brown haired adult sitting behind the desk in a black formal SEED’s attire. As Seifer would have guessed correctly, Squall had done exactly nothing over the last few weeks to make himself comfortable, nothing to personalize his new little office, nothing to leave a trace should he suddenly be gone. Shortly after Ultimecia had been defeated Seifer had heart rumors of Squall now being the unofficial headmaster of Balamb Garden, deciding and conferring on missions, commanding and disposing SEEDs at his whim. Cid had requested Squall for being his stand-in and hopefully future successor despite his young age. Most of the people in Garden agreed, since as their commander he had done an excellent job during numerous battles, deciding on their strategy in combat while still being daring enough to risk his own life in defense of others.

Squall wore this new office as he had formerly worn his uniform, unattached and still with a severe sense of responsibility. Seifer could tell, inwardly he wouldn’t give a shit, if being stripped of it again, like he had been burdened with it at first hand. As long as somebody would guarantee Garden’s persistence. For Squall it had never been about heaving himself into power and leading, it had always been about don’t falling behind and failing. Seifer had been the one with the big dreams. Somehow this had not played out too well. Nowadays, in the aftermath of the war, he tried to throttle himself, whenever he felt the thrill of grandeur close and caught himself getting carried away by the flow of it.

“So … the rumors ran true. They really put you in charge,” Seifer finally stated. He felt as if he had completely forgotten how to hold a conversation with Leonhart, how to attempt any civil conversation at all. Unconsciously his hand had wandered to his left side, where formerly his gunblade would have rested. But the moment he got aware of his own motion, his fingers just gripped thin air. He did not bring any blade for this occasion. So instead he crossed his arms, more out of uncertainty than defiance, not sure at all how to do this.

“The rumors about you being let out of jail and still alive as well seemingly,” Squall responded, not exactly friendly. He must have noticed the movement of Seifer’s hand, betraying the other’s nervousness. Of course he had. Deliberately he rose from his seat and strode around the desk to meet Seifer in the middle of the room, mimicking his rejecting pose. His dark uniform was flawless, and Seifer had expected nothing less. Seifer himself was wearing an unremarkable black dress, which still felt odd, compared to the times he would not have been seen outside without his signature gray coat. Well, times had undoubtedly changed and standing out was not an option anymore. Another detail of Squall’s appearance caught his attention, a detail which was amiss.

“Where’s your blade?” Seifer instantly demanded.

Squall shrugged. “I don’t need a gunblade around here. As you may agree, Almasy, pencils are a lot more useful, if your only adversaries are endlessly rebuilding piles of paper.” Seifer just blinked as Squall continued, probably satisfied about crushing his opponents expectations, “Besides, I do not use my gunblade anymore. I locked it away as a reminder for the end of the war, for ending the sorceress’ grip on our time. It has served its purpose and is no longer needed in this office. And obviously, since you did not bring a blade yourself, I assume you’re not exactly here to challenge and urge me for a fight either.” He rose his eyebrows in question.

Seifer was dumbfounded by the fact that Squall would voluntarily part with the natural extension of his body, would needlessly give up the only passion they had shared in utter commitment, in numerous duels, be it as ally or foe. But what really gave him the creeps on top was his once rival’s mild attempt at humor and at talking rather than fighting – after all that had happened. Seifer ran a hand through his blonde hair, uncertain, of how to proceed. Leonhart without his blade, _changed,_ _calm,_ _m_ _oving on_ , while he himself felt like time had violently stopped in a memory loop the moment he had set one foot into Garden earlier today. As if at any moment they were either about to hang out and quarrel after class or would clash over a battlefield as deadly adversaries again. Still, Seifer could not merge his contradictory memories and emotions towards the other man in order to make peace with his own actions. Uneasily, he tried to gather his thoughts. Squall was right: his intentions were far from fighting this time.

As he took his time looking for an answer to Squall’s unspoken question, Seifer’s eyes caught on a rather conspicuous cabinet next to them in between all the stuffed bookshelves. His gaze trailed the bizarre collection on the shelf and the artifacts inside the glass case above, coming to an abrupt halt. He inhaled sharply. On the shelf, as if not only for display but actual use, lay a gunblade. His. _Hyperion._ No way. No coincidence. Never had he expected to see it again. Intrigued, he quickly crossed the remaining distance to the shelf. Squall joined him without haste.

“How did you come by it?” Seifer’s voice came out with a sharper edge than he intended. His sharp green eyes trailed the glistening blade, up and down. It looked intact and polished, as if somebody had taken good care of it. Hyne, it even looked as if the components had been repaired. But he could not quite be sure, since he did not remember much after losing his last particular battle and even less the condition of his weapon at the end.

“Some civilian in Esthar City found it and handed it over to the authorities. Told them it’d be mine,” Squall simply said, now standing next to him in a seemingly relaxed pose.

“Now did you ...” Seifer voiced, not quite sure if he approved, deliberately ignoring the daring glimmer in the other’s eyes while narrowing his own distrustfully. He raised his hand hesitantly to trace the edge of the blade with one of his fingers, but refrained from actually lifting it. In front of his inner eye, he was already plunging into familiar exercise forms with his dearly beloved weapon, wielding it, becoming one again.

Leonhart, the pretense. The little shit. Seifer had not bought his ridiculous tale about purposefully avoiding weaponry in this office for a second. Be it Leonhart had been bored out by his own weapon, be it he had left it in his dormitory for today, anyways Seifer’s gunblade was serving as a permanent reminder of victory close by. Maybe his once rival was even wielding it from time to time, getting a kinky kick from gloating or whatever. Seifer made himself take a step backwards, suppressing his fury. It took nearly all of his self-control, but he tore away his eyes from the blade. He was not there to pick a fight, he again reminded himself, this time already feeling the massive strain it took. He would wonder about getting Hyperion back later. And no doubt he would. Eagerly looking for a distraction, his gaze fell on the other obscure objects in the cabinet once again.

“What are these?” A gigantic fang – or was it a horn? – lay between some cups and other rubbish, some jewelry and a tiny statue in form of a chocobo-like bird with large feet and too small wings. There were various forms and sizes of skulls and glasses and, most striking to the eye, a golden hand mirror.

“Don’t fumble with them. They’re Cid’s. Mostly.” Squall’s voice carried a bored tone there, as if he had accepted the collection of artifacts as some dull requisites he couldn’t get rid off. As just one of numerous liabilities, which came with Cid’s office and his new post. Seifer shook his head. Fucking freak, that Cid. He should have known, the headmaster had weird tastes. After all he had been happily married to a sorceress knowingly.

“What do you mean by ‘mostly’?” Seifer demanded. Squall seemed hesitant to answer at first, but then admitted,“The mirror’s mine.” How unfitting.

“Enjoying your own visage that much? Always knew you were a self-absorbed prick,” Seifer sneered. Squall shook his head, taking the bait. “I’ll show you.” His light blue eyes took on a wicked expression, not unlike the one he usually wore in a duel right before scoring.

As Squall touched the golden handle and gazed into the mirror intently, the surface of the glass slowly became covered by a growing layer of ice, the room getting chillier and chillier. Seifer did not disappoint. He could not help instantly wincing, as right in the air in front of Squall a Guardian Force appeared with a resonant and melodious sound, spreading cold and blueish ice crystals around them. Shiva hovered in the air like the unworldly creature she was. Squall briefly but explicitly smirked at him, before becoming all eyes for her. Curtly she turned her piercing blue stare on Seifer, but quickly deciding he was not worth her attention, soon focused on Squall again, silently holding his gaze. Seifer was painfully reminded of how during their battles the ice Guardian had faced and fought him on Squall’s command.

“How come she’s locked and wasting away in that mirror, not junctioned to you or any other of your wannabe sorceress’ slayers?,” he pressed, inwardly still shivering at Shiva’s icy gaze. He cringed at the idea of having this terrific being tied to his mind. With growing discomfort he noticed that the Guardian was neither junctioned, nor bound right now. Still somehow he knew, she would not attack, at least not the man next to him, whose eyes often enough wore as icy a tint to them as hers. No, Seifer did not trust these creatures, Guardians, never really had been sure how to handle their essence. In his eyes they were just tools, no animate beings to befriend or care for.

“We do not use the Guardian Forces anymore. The costs are just too great.” Squall’s answer sounded mechanical and he did not turn to face Seifer while speaking. Unconsciously, he had raised his hand, trailing the emanating dust of ice, as if in a futile attempt to keep it from melting and vanishing.

“On who’s decision?” Seifer had the awkward notion of prying on something intimate, but could not make himself look away. “… The headmaster’s.”

“So … now technically yours?” Squall’s attention was still captivated by Shiva, who in contrast already had lost interest in the the two humans. She was ostentatiously stretching her limbs and pirouetting up and down now, taking pleasure in the open space across the room she could fill after being tied to the tiny prison of the mirror before. The moment nearly carried a companionable air as they both stood and watched.

“… Yes,” Squall muttered absentmindedly after a while, frowning. “As the last Garden, we now officially forbid junctioning them, too. They meddle with the human psyche to unknown extents, it’s … not just the memory loss.” He did not get any more specific, but Seifer himself had experienced enough to know about possible, dire side effects. Though he did not like them one bit, he thoroughly disagreed with this decision.

“Especially, when there is no immediate threat by magic wielding forces ahead, I do not see any need for risking the safety of pupils or cadets in Garden.” Contrary to his words, Squall’s reluctance and denial were tangible in the air. Seifer could only muse, why he of all people was adhering to such policies in Garden. It did not fit with his usual sound reasoning. But knowing the other too well, being certain he would never get his real motives just by asking nicely, Seifer cockily laughed out loud, provoking a reaction forcefully. “Sweet. Who had told you to learn that little speech by heart, Leonhart? Do I need to remind you: Magic threats have the tendency of coming back around, especially when you keep them close.” Though he did not openly mention Rinoa, Squall shot him the darkest glare from the side. “You, of all people, as a leader of mercenary forces, oh!-so-mighty-and-fearless-sorceress-slayer,” Seifer added mockingly, “should know that any advantage in battle and advanced technology must be used, in order to win and keep your cadets safe on missions. To take necessary precautions for a future we know nothing of.” Oh, how he enjoyed Leonhart scowling at him like this. Nevertheless, he softened his tone to emphasize the reason behind his words, so that he would not lose him by openly questioning the authority and responsibility he had over Garden. “At least let them decide. If they wanna glue a Guardian to their mind and body, so let it be.”

“Competing kids and youngsters themselves deciding and judging on whether they wanna be fucked up mentally for the rest of their life, merely for the gain of power?” Squall answered sardonically, rolling his eyes. “Had always worked out great in the past.“

“Didn’t it?” the blonde shot him a winning but vicious grin in return. Squall obviously did not like him discussing his methods. But like so often in their mutual dynamic, it just fueled him on. So Seifer found himself asking the most pressing question on his mind, all too blatant, “Tell me, would you have ever, just for one single moment, refrained from using the Guardians when you had to face Ultimecia, her forces, _me_?” Seifer’s green gaze was intent, “Would you have traded your abilities and victories for the memory of some moments lost long ago?” Squall stared back just as intently, unreadable.

Seifer felt the almost jovial atmosphere shift, with these questions instantly catapulting them back from discussing strategies into the harsh presence, painfully reminding of the last months standing between them, of their antagonisms never solved. There was something dying in Squall’s eyes and his answer took a little longer than necessary, but his voice was resolute, “… No.” Shaking his head he lowly voiced, “But it should not be up to them to decide. It should not be necessary at all for them to decide.” In this moment, Seifer noticed, he much looked like his uncertain younger self for once, brown strands of hair shielding his averted face from scrutiny.

But Seifer would not have it, this pitiable display of lacking ruthlessness. He started pacing around, snorting. “If you were lied to as a kid about the Guardians, don’t take it out on the children and cadets in Garden. This world is a tough one, and they better be ready to pay a price in order for being able to defend themselves.” Leonhart better sooner than later be facing reality again, if he intended to stay in charge.

Inwardly Seifer still craved to know what exactly was going on in his head, but the brunette was as thick as ever. It was disquieting, being around Squall after all that happened, had always been so, but even more now after Seifer had gained back many of his memories during the few weeks of his imprisonment, one by one. The process had been excruciatingly painful, since he had been sitting in custody, all by himself with too much time to ponder in the dark. And it had not been possible for him to choose, but he had gotten them by _remembering_ , flooding his mind unbidden, with impressions, feelings, long forgotten scenes from his youth and childhood, frustration, loneliness, sometimes warmth.

And now every aggravating gesture of the man in front of him, made _so much more_ sense. The way he stubbornly shove his chin forward, his dark glare, the way he tended to move around the room while silently debating with himself, lost in thought, the way he held his arms, turned his head, rubbed his scar – Seifer simply knew those gestures, was frustratingly familiar with them. There was no other person he had shared more time with in his life, though never willingly.

And the shabby fact was that he had utterly forgotten, just how acquainted Squall Leonheart and he had truly been. Their mutual strong dislike, the ease with which the man provoked reactions out of him, mostly leading down a dark and violent path, they had a history. A troublesome and intricate one. Their Guardian Forces must have had a feast on these memories. One more reason, he despised them that much – while still regarding them as a necessary evil.

They had locked. On the topic of the use of Guardians no more ground was to be gained. Squall must have had a similar notion, for he wordlessly decided to pick up the mirror again, pointing it towards Shiva, effectively finishing the argument by the action. Seifer observed the short longing in the other’s eyes and their deadening as the Guardian Force was sucked back into the mirror. He even imagined a pained and parting look on the creature’s features. _Almost human_. After she was gone, Squall’s shoulders were all tension. Then, indifferently still though a little too violent, he tossed the mirror back on the shelf. He suddenly seemed withdrawn again, even more so than on Seifer’s entering, a hard and tired look around his light eyes. All business.

“Seifer, first: If only one of my guards or even one member of the cleaning staff just got as much as a scratch, I’ll make sure you pay threefold. Second: Why the fuck even are you here in Garden?” Seifer could tell how hard Squall was trying and still failing to suppress his sour mood, induced by the sudden and stiff absence of his Guardian Force. He stopped pacing and gave a deep sigh. As always, Leonhart had to make things incredibly difficult for himself, locking away not only his gunblade, but also his most precious ally. As if in this fashion he could contain the past, prevent it from haunting him. Seifer knew all to well, it did not work this way. He himself was proof of that.

“I just felt like paying you a visit?” His lop-sided grin and ill-placed humor were met by a frosty glare. “Look, there are some things we … need to talk about.” He stretched out his arms in an appeasing gesture, palms up.

Though Squall had stepped back towards the desk in the center of the room, lightly leaning on the top now with folded arms, his eyes kept betraying his unease by wandering back to the mirror on the shelf. Seifer had automatically trailed him through the room, coming to a halt about a meter in front of him. He could tell the moments for messing around had ultimately past. Squall was serious now, mistrusting him. “Talk, huh? Seems we’ve been doing that the last couple of minutes. So far not much has come out of it.”

Seifer instantly felt pissed at the banter. “First: Your staff is perfectly fine, as long as they haven’t died of boredom during the last hour, which I can’t tell.” He continued to glare into those aloof eyes. “Second: … I’ve been pardoned.” As if that would be answer enough.

Squall raised an eyebrow. “Good for you.” Seifer knew that tone too well. It was the same he usually reserved for eloquent answers like ‘… Whatever’ or ‘I don’t give a fuck’.

“Yeah, well … ,” he felt himself getting impatient, Squall’s attitude gradually bothering him, little by little,“It’s not as if I’d decided on the matter myself.” Squall pretended to be all calm, deliberately choosing to ignore the hostility radiating from the blonde. “How so?” he asked with a false politeness. It was infuriating.

“Don’t fuck around with me, Squall. You know _exactly_ what I’m talking about!” Seifer finally felt himself snap, invading the other’s personal space, until their faces were inches from one another.

“No, I definitely know not.” Squall’s eyes were unrelenting. “It’s none of my business and never was.” He did not back away, not even an inch, not even as Seifer’s voice rose to an unpleasant sneer onto his face. “I’m not your fucking charity, Leonhart! I didn’t need you to spread false tails of my innocence. Didn’t need your pretense during my trial. And I certainly don’t need your forgiveness.” That had been more words than intended.

His speech was greeted with silence, then Squall quietly said, “You don’t have my forgiveness.” Seifer felt a searing sensation in his gut. He instantly knew, he had overstepped a boundary. But as it wasn’t the first time, he had ignored all of these with Leonhart, he continued nevertheless. _Beyond saving_ , wasn’t that what they had all whispered behind his back?

“I didn’t ask for your help! Stop meddling with my life once and for all. You have told those pigs in the court, sworn on Hyne, that my capture of Deling had been forced by Ultimecia’s hand, turning the tale into a complete mess! I had chosen long ago, that I would never back down and fully bear the consequences of my own actions – either way it would have had turned out. It had absolutely nothing to do with you. Still, you had to distract and demolish everything with your false act.” Yearning for any kind of reaction, he gripped Squall’s collar with both hands. And even though it would have been all to easy to pull away or punch him, Squall didn’t even flinch. Seifer felt a surge of desperation and humiliation rising within him. As usually Squall would simply ignore Seifer’s outbursts, making them all the harder to bear by himself. Suddenly he could not contain it any longer.

“I … lost. Don’t you dare take that away from me,” Seifer finally spit out. His voice was hoarse. He felt his hands starting to shake badly. He cast his eyes to the ground, not understanding, why this revelation spoken out aloud to his once rival was doing so much more than thinking it a hundred times over. “At least… It was my choice.” He added weakly. Pathetic.

His upright posture had slowly yielded and, though both his hands were still gripping the cloth of Squall’s jacket, it was more for stability than menace. Seifer was staring into nothing, again confined in the memory of the torturous hours of his lonesome imprisonment, awaiting his trial, trapped in his defeat. After a few moments of silence, a cold hand closed lightly over his left one, the touch neither gentle nor hostile. Squall spoke softly into the quiet over his head. “There is no such thing as forfeited destiny, Almasy, no such thing as purification through atonement. And you had fucked up. You were facing a death sentence or at least a lifelong lock-away in a corrupted, militarized country. So don’t pull your self-hate-shit on me. Testifying was the right thing to do.” Squall paused and, knowing Seifer would hate him even more for that, still added, “If you truly didn’t want to live, you could have easily told them, I was lying.”

“Fuck you, Leonhart,” Seifer mumbled, but without any force. Squall was right. In his lowest moments, he still did not truly want to part. He wanted to live, eagerly wanted to live, but after Ultimecia’s defeat he just had forgotten how. It seemed impossible to just do so and carry on like before, after facing the despicable cloudy haze of thoughts and memories the last months of his life comprised of. He may be a self-absorbed asshole most of the time, but he was not immune to feelings like regret, fear and guilt. And though he had passionately hated his rival, the moment Seifer had spotted his familiar visage in the courtroom, still he could not have made himself tear down his monument of lies, helplessly watching him taking the decision about the future course of his life out of his own hands. He was utterly worthless.

His forehead fell against the dark fabric at Squall’s collarbone, and for once he just stood, eyes closed, trying to bear his thoughts and the weight of being himself. He could feel the other breathing calmly, a reassuring presence in front of him. In the back of his numb mind, he incoherently wondered, why exactly it was his once opponent wouldn’t pull away, but the notion past. Seifer could not remember any moment of foreignness between them, be it in the orphanage, classroom or on the battlefield. Squall was just Squall. They had never exactly been friends, they had simply _been_. But Seifer had been so fixated on outdoing Squall, always seeking his attention, he would surely have believed Fu and Rai telling him often enough it was bordering an unhealthy obsession, wouldn’t he have known their uncanny bond went likewise. But what exactly did that make them now, when suddenly all rivalry seemed at an end, futile? When now he truly and absolutely was lost, defeated even in defeat? And Squall was still around regardless, obviously, though nothing was to be gained or lost against him anymore? He could not sense any hostility anymore, only a solid familiarity. But just as Seifer began considering, if maybe, just maybe there was something he might have always misspelled between them, something in need of a new language beneath the dark emotions he mostly held, it was Squall, who fell back into their usual antagonism, Squall, who suddenly stiffened and uttered coldly: “Besides, Almasy: I have been asked to testify on your behalf. I wouldn’t have chosen to do so myself.”

Seifer slowly raised his head, freeing his hands, gaining distance. Suddenly he felt repelled by their closeness. “Oh, don’t feint it, duty-boy!” His reddened gaze took on a murderous glint and he gave a harsh laugh. He hurt. And all around him should be hurting as well.

He narrowed his eyes as he continued rudely, “Regardless of what your pitiful little cast of friends might think, no matter what puff pieces the Galbadian press fabricates on your lovely high sense of justice, that is not in the least, what this was all about for you.” Seifer paused to observe Squall’s reaction, then pointedly remarked, “You enjoyed it all! The trial. The powerless me, the rottenness inside yourself, the blade you held over my head. Every. Single. Second.” Though he felt a little despised by himself, he had undoubtedly hit home. Squall’s cheeks were uncharacteristically flushed, he could not meet Seifer’s eyes anymore. Though everyone else might assume, Squall attending his trial had been a pure mercy, a small gesture of installing peace, pardoning his old rival and overcoming obstinate juvenile feuds – there was so much more to it. Seifer knew the other’s conflicting desires, as they were probably mirroring his own: to draw blood and to mend. Just like he himself was unsure in this moment if he wanted to punch Squall in the face at last or bury his throbbing head in the dark fabric of his dress once again. His mind was full of a blazing blankness. Why he was so eager for hurting, when it would jeopardize everything he came for today, he could not explain. As if he hadn’t already experienced and understood that the satisfaction he gained from wounding, even tormenting his counterpart was short-lived and nothing compared to the need for the violation he craved for himself in order to feel alive and free of guilt.

Still, he could not make himself stop from going further. “Let me make this very clear, Squally-boy. Threatening President Deling by no means was the sorceress’ work. The action was no spontaneous, stupid and short-lived romantic daydream. It was painstakingly planned and executed on my own behalf. I, who would never have been considered worthy enough of becoming SEED, had succeeded at least in this, in something meaningful, something world-turning.” Again he chuckled darkly, maybe a little like a mad-man. He did not care. “At that time I had already and irrevocably decided on giving up on SEED, on becoming a mindless mercenary, on following orders. Anyways, it had never really suited me. The last exam I failed with you and the chicken was the ultimate proof I had needed to realize this.” Squall squinted, but said nothing.

“And there was this chance for action, I would not let slip. I knew about the idiotic plans for Timber’s liberation by the Forest Owls. I just did not know you and your bunch of amateurs would show up.” Seifer shook his head as he recalled, giving Small a condescending smile, “I simply assumed, Zone and Watts would definitely fail, as I knew them. They were mediocre at scheming, but a total disaster at acting. Even if the Owls would finally have been lucky enough to get supported by SEEDs on Cid’s behalf, failure was the most probable outcome. Though,” he added, “I really had hoped Rinoa would have succeeded at least with that.” Squall wincing at him speaking her name, did not go unnoticed. Seifer savored his unease. “So no, I did _not_ do this on anyone’s orders. I did it to support the resistance movement, to totally smash this political system, to effectively end Galbadia’s rule on timber and enable its independence.”

“Then … how come you got involved with the sorceress?” Squall, who had hung on his every word, finally stated unbelieving.

Seifer shrugged. “That is one of the great mysteries even for myself. I cannot recall how I came to be in Edea’s, or rather Ultimecia’s service, I just _was_ at some point. I went over the edge from there. It was a hell of a ride.”

“So, at first you swapped being a mercenary for playing revolution only to subsequently choose serving a crazy time-witch, who intended to slaughter all of mankind? How does that even fit with any ideas of liberation?”

“It was … unfortunate,” Seifer grimaced at his own insufficient choice of words, “But other than you I never wanted to waste my life following hollow orders blindly, without any great hopes or plans for the future. I would not be erased by the flow of time simply from sitting on my arse instead of taking action, I would imprint myself in the history books. And after all she promised and sang to me, she’d turn the world upside down. There seemed to be so much room for change along the way. I was simply blind to any costs or means implied. No pride in this, I tell you.”

“I don’t believe you,” Squall spat, a hard edge to his voice. “The power she gave you, the romantic promise and appeal of being a knight – it was corrupted, right from the start. It did not have anything to do with grand ideals worth fighting for. You should have recognized this, felt there was something utterly wrong there. Immediately.” There was no sympathy in his gaze, as he approached Seifer. “And I know, even though she might have had a coercing grip on your mind or heart, you were totally aware of your actions.” Seifer did not deny it, oddly fascinated by Squall speaking up to him. “At _all_ times.” He could tell, the other was waiting for him to react, for him to clarify that no, he would have never intentionally given the orders for destroying Garden, never would have fallen so low as for using torture as a means to get the true meaning of SEED out of him. But looking at his cross features, Seifer simply could not bring himself to deny that yes, at those times he had relented quite willingly to Ultimecia’s whispers of power and yes, he had been aware, how much this would be alienating him from his past self, how much he would leave them all twisted, broken or even dead in the end.

After waiting a few moments for a defense or clarification that would not come, Squall slowly shook his head, an expression of utter disgust and disregard spreading on his face. “… thought so. I have always known, you believed yourself to be better than anyone else, Almasy, always have thought, you were intended for something greater.” Seifer could not bring himself to meet his eyes.

“Tell you what? The greatest deceit at your trial has not been me declaring your innocence by stating you were forced into the sorceress’ service, misleadingly subsuming all actions against Deling there already. No, it has been not revealing that from there on, you did it all willingly. Even enjoying the greater part of it. I do not say, it would have been easy, but you could at least have fought her, walked away from her and chosen another difficult path. But you never did.” His blue, unforgiving eyes were swirling with emotion.

“Careful, Leonhart,” Seifer growled like a wounded animal, before becoming very still, suddenly painfully reminded of the haziness and fragile state of his mind. Though he might have relished some of his actions and privileges, the greater number had come with an enormous amount of self-hatred and doubt. He could not have escaped the sorceress’ grip. But he had definitely sucked at trying and defying her, absorbed in battling against his greatest fear: insignificance.

The shame of being seen right through was nearly unbearable. But Squall had as badly a sense for boundaries as himself. He was so close again, Seifer could almost feel his breath on his face, with words softly spoken. “Once a tool, always a tool.”

Seifer lost it.


End file.
